Placitum Fatum
by siriusismyhero
Summary: Draco has spent the first half of the school year attempting to carry out the task the Dark Lord set him the previous summer - killing Albus Dumbledore. But the task has been proving much more difficult than he could have ever imagined.


Placitum Fatum

The room was dark. Only a tiny sliver of moonshine was able to escape the clutches of the heavy, expensive curtains. Draco Malfoy passed through this sliver briefly, his sleep-tousled hair catching the light before he passed through it. He padded, footfalls soft on the plush carpet, towards the oak door on the other side of the room. It was closed tightly. Just out of arm's reach of the door, Draco turned and paced back the way he had came, passing through the moonlight again, continuing his trek across the room and back again.

Draco fingered his wand as he paced, pulling it out of the pocket of his worn satin dressing gown merely to replace it moments later. He licked his lips repeatedly, only to wipe them with the back of his hand once he had wetted them. He was, in short, quite distressed, even thought it was passed two in the morning and he should have been long asleep. Especially with what was without a doubt the most important - and most terrifying - meeting of his young life scheduled in mere hours. In truth, he had only retired to his bedroom after his mother found him in the library at one o'clock. He had been researching - pouring over his father's books of dark curses and evil potions and equally nasty things. He had been so absorbed in what he was reading - he had come across something called a Horcrux, and found himself both repulsed and intrigued by its concept - that he hadn't noticed his mother open the door.

"Draco!" she had gasped, causing him to nearly fall out of his chair in shock. "What in the name of Salazar are you doing up at this late hour?"

He hadn't had to say anything. It was a stupid question, really, as she was fully aware of correspondence he had received earlier that day. All Draco had had to do was look at her to remind her of it. She let out a tiny little gasp and swept into the drafty room, pulling her pale satin dressing gown about her as she went.

Narcissa had wrapped her arms around Draco's thinning form, pulling his head to her chest, brushing his hair in a soothing way. Draco had closed his eyes and allowed her to try to comfort him, and it had just started to work, when she ceased her caressing and asked gently, "What were you reading?"

Draco sat up suddenly, his spine stiff. He gripped the arm of his father's leather chair tightly with one hand while the other groped for the ancient tome in front of him, with its stained paged and torn binding. But Narcissa's deft fingers were faster than his weary ones. She flipped the cover closed and a noise came from her that was something like a groan of disgust.

"Oh, Draco." She had sounded like she wanted to be harsh with him, but couldn't bring herself to it. She began worrying her lip as she flipped the cover back open to a random page, luckily not the one on Horcruxes that Draco had been studying. "Darling..." she reached towards him, ready to coddle him again, but Draco was no longer in the mood for coddling. He stood up quickly, batting her hand away from him.

"Don't, Mother!"

"Draco..."

"He gave it to me," Draco hissed. "Me, out of all the others."

"But you're just a - " Narcissa faltered when she caught sight of Draco's expression - his cheeks had gone crimson, quite a feat for his colorless face, and his eyes had narrowed to slits. His expression so mirrored his father's that he had momentarily shocked her to silence. Earlier in the year, he would have been pleased with himself.

"A _what_, Mother?" Draco challenged.

Narcissa raised her chin and recovered quickly, not missing a beat. "You're just so young, Draco. I don't want... Please, darling, let someone else-"

"There is no one else! He entrusted _me_ with it. I can do this!"

Even now, over an hour later, Draco could remember the desperation in his voice as he had insisted to his mother - and to himself - that he would finish the job that the Dark Lord had assigned to him. He longed for the days in his second year at school, when he had been so confident that he was going to win the Quidditch Cup; if only he had that same confidence now! Or even if he were as sure of himself as he had been when the Dark Lord had given him the job last summer, when he first started to plot and plan. He had been fueled by hatred, then. Hatred for Potter, for Dumbledore. For what they had done to his father. To his family. To the Malfoy name. But the hatred had subsided now. He was getting desperate. The Dark Lord was growing impatient. He wanted the job done. And Merlin knows, Draco wanted it done as well. But that was proving more and more difficult as time went on. He just had to remember the disaster with the necklace to prove that.

Letting out a loud moan of despair, Draco halted in his pacing and tore back the heavy curtains, revealing the expansive grounds surrounding Malfoy Manor, shrouded with darkness. He stared down at the garden and its perfectly trimmed hedges, frosted with snow and icicles, and at the fountain that was magically enchanted to run water all year round. He looked then to the field that served as a Quidditch pitch, where, in earlier years, he may have been able to persuade his father to toss a Quaffle around. But this year...

He ground his teeth together and resisted the urge to pull at his hair. He wanted nothing more than to free his father from that ghastly prison, take his mother and flee to France, or perhaps to Italy, where they had a villa. It wasn't as grand as the manor, but it would suffice until all of this business with the Dark Lord blew over. If it blew over. If not...well then perhaps he would just take his mother and leave. Out of Europe, if possible. Perhaps to the Dominican Republic. Draco thought his father might have relations who lived there.

A clock chimed three o'clock and Draco moaned. He glanced over his shoulder at his king-sized bed, which he had vacated not long after his mother had sent him there. An hour of fitful dozing and tossing had been enough for him; he wasn't eager to try again.

But he ought to. He needed to be at his best for the Dark Lord's visit. The mere thought of it caused Draco's stomach to turn. There were only two reasons why the Dark Lord would make a personal visit; he was either particularly pleased about something, or he was particularly _dis_pleased about something. And Draco could guarantee that the Dark Lord wasn't pleased with him.

Around six o'clock, Draco finally ended up falling asleep at the mahogany desk on the left of his grand window. It was crammed full of old school textbooks, dried-up inkwells and half-finished letters - mostly to Pansy, who was becoming increasingly aggravated with Draco's lack of correspondence over the break. Before falling asleep, Draco had been perusing one of his old Charms textbooks, hoping to find some clue as to how he might go about repairing that bloody vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement that was giving him so much grief. The unlikeliness of finding anything hadn't escaped Draco, even in his half-delirious state of exhaustion. He knew that if he hadn't found anything in his father's library, or the library at Hogwarts, finding something in one of his school textbooks was as likely as the Chudley Cannons winning the League Cup.

Two hours after falling asleep, a soft knock on his door jolted Draco out his slumber. He sat up with a cry that he was unable to stifle, the pages of the charms textbook sticking annoyingly to his face. He pushed the textbook roughly away from him as he fumbled for his wand, which he had laid next to it for light, and had gone out sometime after he had fallen asleep. He stood and spun clumsily, wand aimed at the door, only then realizing that it was his mother coming in to wake him, not an assassin coming to murder him in his sleep.

The shock on Narcissa's face made Draco's gut twist with repulsion. He lowered his wand quickly, not able to believe that he had nearly cursed his own mother. "It's eight o'clock," she informed him warily.

Draco's legs started to shake beneath him. "Eight?" he croaked, backing into his desk and sitting on an edge that wasn't occupied by books. He ran a hand through his knotted hair, suddenly wishing he were back at Hogwarts.

Narcissa strode into the room and made as if to gather Draco in her arms, but had second thoughts at the last minute. Instead, she hovered in front of him, her face mirroring Draco's emotions. "He'll be here in an hour," Draco muttered. "One hour."

Narcissa nodded slowly, worrying her lip again.

"Why didn't you wake me sooner?" Draco shouted suddenly, leaping back to his feet. Narcissa balked, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Draco threw open the doors to his wardrobe and tore out a number of sets of robes, looking for something suitable to wear. He cast a dark look at his mother, who was watching his every move cautiously. "Find me something to wear," he hissed before storming out of the room, into the bathroom.

He reappeared five minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist, his long hair still damp from the shower. Narcissa had laid out a set of robes that were such a dark shade of blue that they were nearly black. They were simple, yet it was obvious that they had cost an arm and half of a leg to buy. They were, in short, perfect for the meeting. If one could call it a meeting.

He threw them on and dried his hair with an impatient flick of his wand, checking his appearance once before descending to the vast dining room, where their house-elf - a tiny little thing called Cordince - was serving Narcissa coffee and eggs. Cordince jumped when she caught sight of Draco, slopping coffee all over the table. Narcissa didn't even look up from the issue of the _Daily Prophet_ she was reading. She merely swung her legs out of the way of the scalding coffee dripping to the floor and ordered, "Clean it up."

Cordince's hands were shaking so hard that when she took the rag to the table, she shook the entire thing. Draco glared at her. "Get a grip on yourself, elf!"

But Cordince was unable to stop herself from shaking, even under the direct orders from one of her masters. As soon as she had cleaned up the coffee spill she began smash her head against the coffee pot. Narcissa recoiled and Draco scowled deeper at the elf, but neither said anything about her choice of punishment.

As soon as the elf had completed her punishment, she went submissively back to her duties. Her nose was slowly dripping blood, but neither Malfoy said anything about it as she served Draco's breakfast, and then his mugful of coffee.

"Draco," Narcissa said, folding up the _Prophet_ and staring at her son across the table as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. "We need to have a little chat."

Draco fixed his mother with a glare and swallowed his mouthful of egg. "It can wait, Mother."

"No." she said sharply, folding her arms and standing. "It cannot. I am sick and tired of you treating me like a house-elf. I am your mother, Draco, and you will treat me with respect, or so help me there will be hell to pay."

Draco responded by stabbing his bacon with extra vigor. Narcissa watched him for a long moment before glancing up at the clock. Her mouth thinned and she said dispassionately, "Eighteen minutes."

Draco's eyes snapped to the clock behind him and he nearly choked on his bacon. He ate more quickly after that.

Once he was finished, he shoved the dishes into Cordince's arms and snapped, "Get those dishes done before the Dark Lord arrives, or you'll wish you were never born."

Cordince squeaked fearfully and half-ran to the kitchen. "And clean up that nose!" Draco barked as he followed her out of the dining room, glaring at the spot of blood it had left on the floor as he passed it. Cordince dabbed hurriedly at her nose with the towel that was wrapped around her body as she tipped the dishes into the sink.

The clock chimed nine.

Both Draco and the elf froze. All eyes turned to the door. Narcissa appeared there, her lips thinned once again. Draco's limbs began to shake uncontrollably and Cordince was already squealing with pain as she whacked herself over the head with the mug Draco had used for his coffee.

"Stop it!" Narcissa hissed at her, "Get those finished!"

Cordince stopped immediately and for one of the first times in her pitiful existence, a look of gratitude filled her eyes. She scrubbed with more vigor than she had before and within minutes, the dishes were stacked neatly in the cupboards.

Draco took to pacing the foyer, checking the grandfather clock every time of he passed it; he fretted more as the hour grew later and later. The Dark Lord was late. Part of Draco was grateful for it and hoped that perhaps the Dark Lord wouldn't show up at all, but the other part knew that it was foolish - and dangerous - for him to think that way.

It was nearly half past when the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor became aware of something amiss. An unnatural silence fell over the house. Draco ceased his pacing and stared at the front door as if expecting it to explode. Narcissa joined him, touching his arm gently. "In the sitting room," she whispered.

Draco turned his head sharply toward the sitting room, which, from where he was standing, looked empty. But then the Dark Lord's voice slithered from the room, commanding him to enter, and Draco's heart leapt to his throat. He gulped in a few mouthfuls of air before entering the room.

The Dark Lord was sitting comfortably in the chair Lucius normally would have occupied. Draco dropped to his knees and, muttering his welcome, touched his lips to his master's fingers. With a growl of disgust, Voldemort snatched his hand away and kicked Draco ferociously backwards.

"Give me good news, Draco," the Dark Lord said dangerously as Draco picked himself up.

Draco's throat went dry and he swallowed a few times to try to wet it, to no avail. "I-I have a plan, my Lord. The-"

"It's been long enough." The Dark Lord's voice was icy when he spoke.

Draco blinked rapidly, trying to quell the fear swelling in his chest. "I-I have discovered a Vanishing Cabinent, my Lord. At Hogwarts."

"Indeed?" Did Draco dare think he heard a hint of intrigue in his master's voice?

"Yes, my Lord. It has a mate. In...Borgin and Burkes. In, er, in Knockturn Alley." Something flashed in the Dark Lord's eyes that Draco took for anger. He flinched. "The, er, the one in Borgin and Burkes seems to work well enough -" The Dark Lord twitched - "but, er, the one at Hogwarts...does not."

The Dark Lord said nothing, but Draco could almost sense his annoyance. Draco attempted to wet his dry throat again, and wished that he had told Cordince to serve them drinks.

"I've been trying to mend it, my Lord. I've spent ev-"

"But you have not."

A sinking feeling appeared in Draco's gut.

"N-no."

The Dark Lord leaned forward, his eyes peering into Draco's, who tried harder than ever to keep his master's gaze while keeping the walls surrounding his mind up. Draco's aunt Bellatrix had been teaching him Occlumency since last summer, but he had had little reason to really test it before now.

The Dark Lord didn't press Draco, though. After a few moments of staring into Draco's eyes unwaveringly, his demonic pupils flicked to Narcissa, who was hovering at the door. "Get out."

Narcissa hesitated and opened her mouth as if she were about to object, but thought better of it. She fixed Draco with a look that he supposed was meant to be encouraging before disappearing out the door.

"I am most displeased, Draco."

Draco's hands began to tremble.

"I will try harder, my Lord."

"Yes, you will." It wasn't a command, it was a threat, and Draco knew it instantly. "You _will_, Draco. I shouldn't need to remind you of the consequences."

Draco's heart twisted as the Dark Lord's eyes flicked to the door. It took all of Draco's willpower to shake his head and not to whimper as Cordince had earlier.

"I will be checking in," the Dark Lord told him, his eyes back on Draco, "with your mother. Every month until you have completed your mission. More often, if I deem it necessary."

"It won't be necessary," Draco breathed.

"Good. Now, your plan?"

"I'm going to mend the broken Vanishing Cabinet at Hogwarts and use the one in Borgin and Burkes to transport the Death Eaters into the castle," Draco told him quickly. "Th-they can do whatever it is you want – need – er...want them to do, while I..."

"Kill Dumbledore," the Dark Lord finished, something almost like a smile in his eyes.

Draco had lost his voice. All he could do was nod.

The Dark Lord nodded his satisfaction and stood. He seemed to be in much better spirits, now that the topic had been turned to the murder of Albus Dumbledore, and amusement colored his voice, or perhaps it was irony. "Have a good term, Draco."

The Dark Lord swept from the room, but Draco didn't move. He seemed unable to. His eyes were still fixed to the chair his master had just vacated, his breathing unsteady and rapid. He didn't notice his mother enter the sitting room, nor even when she sat in the chair the Dark Lord had vacated. "What happened?" she asked, her voice as shaky as he felt.

"Nothing," Draco whispered, finally blinking and looking away from the chair. "Nothing at all."


End file.
